


all this to avoid an apology?

by maguuma_blues



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Ekimmaras, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Communicating, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Feelings, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, I love writing from jaskier's pov, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, There's some violence but I think it's pretty mild tbh, if not i can always change the rating and warnings as needed !, it lets me be extra poetic for no reason and i Thrive on that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:08:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22513780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maguuma_blues/pseuds/maguuma_blues
Summary: Theirs is a precarious situation at best. The kind of situation where you walk on eggshells around the other person, unsure if one wrong move will set them off. The kind of situation where the both of you hold your breath for something to happen and neither of you are sure what will come to bear.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 14
Kudos: 309





	all this to avoid an apology?

**Author's Note:**

> my brain said "you can have a little motivation. as a treat." so I wrote more ! hope u enjoy !

Theirs is a precarious situation at best. The kind of situation where you walk on eggshells around the other person, unsure if one wrong move will set them off. The kind of situation where the both of you hold your breath for something to happen and neither of you are sure what will come to bear. Though, Jaskier supposes most of the blame falls on him for that. 

It has been 18 months since Geralt – how should he put this? Yelled at him? Took his anger out on him? Regardless of how it’s phrased, a significant amount of time has passed, and neither of them have brought it up yet. And listen, it’s not like Jaskier is waiting with bated breath for Geralt to apologize.

However he did, admittedly, at one point, fantasize about the witcher showing up at some local tavern or inn, finding him after he’d been searching for so long. That he would apologize for all the astringent and foul words that came to pass on that fateful day. This little fantasy went away after about month number five, and Jaskier settled uneasily into acceptance that his and Geralt’s paths would never cross again. 

You can imagine Jaskier’s surprise when, after a stunning performance on his part if he does say so himself, Geralt manages to find a seat next to the bard. Neither of them speak for several moments, and Jaskier is certain that the witcher can hear his racing heart over all the chatter in the tavern.

“I’m leaving for Velen tomorrow. At dawn.” Is all Geralt says. An invitation, if Jaskier has ever heard one. And that’s that. Nothing more is said, and the witcher is quick to leave Jaskier alone with his thoughts.

That brings him to now. They’re still quite a ways from Velen and the sun is setting, raking hues of pink and orange across the sky while darkness folds over like a star-ridden blanket. And while that’s all very poetic, it doesn’t ease the palpable tension in the slightest. A precarious situation indeed. The bard wonders if this will get worse before it gets better; they still have to camp for the night.

The air is thick with things unspoken. Frequently, Jaskier has had to stop himself from rambling on a tangent, to avoid filling the awkward silence with something – anything – and make things less unbearable between the two. Geralt hasn’t been helping this, either, he’s constantly halted, looking at Jaskier like he has something to say, before ultimately deciding that whatever is bothering him can wait. 

This entire dramatic, drawn out play comes to a close when they’ve finally settled in for the night, Geralt tending to the fire as Jaskier fidgets amidst all the strain. The witcher heaves out a great, big sigh and fixes Jaskier with a look. 

“Why are you acting like this?” he asks.

The bard blinks, tries hard not to scoff. “I’m sorry?” he asks instead, because maybe he’s just mistaken. Maybe all of the constant performances of the last 18 months have left his hearing a little funny; you know how loud taverns can get. 

“That came out wrong,” If Jaskier didn’t know any better, he would say that Geralt is fidgeting with the grass. “I meant why aren’t you acting like you normally do?” 

“Oh, I’m _sorry_ .” Jaskier says, voice dripping with something too saccharine to be sincerity. “I didn’t realize that we would just pick up where we left off. Y’know after you _blamed_ me for all of your life’s misfortunes. How indecorous of me to presume anything else.” 

“Jaskier –” Geralt tries. 

Geralt _fails_ , because this dam has now burst open and flooded their entire campsite. Really, it’s quite a mess. “I hadn’t realized that you could just waltz back into my life, 18 months after that whole affair – which you _still_ haven’t apologized for, by the way – and act like nothing happened. And then have the _gall_ to ask me why I’ve been acting the way that I have.” Jaskier huffs a bitter laugh. “I… Are you quite serious, Geralt?” 

And Geralt actually has the wherewithal to look sheepish, bordering on bashful. “I thought it was one of those things better left unsaid.” 

“Well, it’s not. I want an apology from you.” Jaskier demands. 

This is where things get tricky, you see, because at this moment, a loud screech resounds in the distance; far off into the swamp. Geralt instantly perks up. 

“Later, bard.” he says. And before Jaskier can even comprehend what’s going on, Geralt is off the ground, swords sheathed on his back, and he’s following the sound. 

“I don’t _think_ so!” Jaskier cries, and jumps to his feet. 

* * *

By the time he catches up to Geralt, it’s hard to see. Shadows cling to every inch of the swamp, and all Jaskier can think of is how foolish this all is. Was their conversation so bad that Geralt would sooner face a monster than apologize to him? The very thought makes Jaskier’s chest ache.

That ache is quickly set aside, once he sees what Geralt is currently staring down. It looks like a huge bat, hunched over and red, furry, with claws as long as Jaskier’s forearms. It lets out a deep snarl, beady eyes focusing on Jaskier. 

“Uh… Geralt? What _is_ that?” 

Geralt quickly pulls out his silver sword. “An Ekimmara. Go!” is all he says as he slices at the beast to get its attention. It snarls at him, and slashes out with its very, very frightening claws. 

But Jaskier, ever the fool, can’t seem to run away from the scene that is quickly unfolding out before him. One, his boots are likely stuck in the mud, and two, this fight Geralt has engaged himself in is going quite poorly, relatively quickly. 

He watches as the monster lashes out at Geralt, managing to cut straight through his armor and down to the flesh of his arm. It’s hard to see how deep or shallow the cut is in the darkness of the swamp, but Jaskier feels a strong tug of worry regardless. 

It’s a sort of dance, a whirlwind of motion that Jaskier can hardly keep track of, and he thinks that the witcher has the upper hand. That is, until the monster flings him far with a sickening crack, Geralt’s sword getting stuck in the mud more than a couple paces away from the bard. Jaskier heaves a breath, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He’s never held a sword in his life, but the monster is advancing and, while Geralt is still inhumanly fast, Jaskier can see a sort of sluggishness to his actions. 

A slow witcher means a dead one, and Geralt _doesn’t have his sword_ to combat with the fact that it’s the middle of the night and who knows when he last got a good night’s sleep. So Jaskier picks up the sword, foolishly. It’s a foreign weight in his hands, and it doesn’t help that he’s trembling. 

Instead of doing something rational, like throwing the sword where Geralt can reach, the bard lets out a cry and runs up on the Ekimmara, slashing with all his might – which isn’t very much, mind you – until he has its attention. And as soon as it rounds on him, _that’s_ when he tosses Geralt his sword. 

It takes _too long_ for the bard to realize his mistake, and by then, the vampire has already slashed the front of his doublet. Soon, though, the monster lies dead at his feet, Geralt panting like he’s run a marathon, and the world falls sideways – the sky suddenly in sight.

It’s at this moment that Jaskier realizes that things have gone sideways because he has fallen. Something oozes out, thick and hot, there’s no pain – not at the moment – and Jaskier can’t help but place a hand to his chest, trembling when it comes back bloody. His mind tries desperately to catch up to what on Earth has just happened and his vision swims.

“G-Geralt,” he manages, as the witcher’s face comes into view, a panicked expression marring his features. He can feel blood running down his chin, its metallic taste pervading his mouth. 

“You _idiot._ ” Geralt bites out, but he’s exceedingly gentle in picking him up. “What were you thinking, Jaskier?! Answer me!” 

Jaskier would love nothing more than to answer the witcher, but he’s afraid that the world is hazing in and out of focus, and his heartbeat is exceedingly loud in his ears. “I…”

He must black out, because when everything swims into view once more, he’s leaning against a log and the fire that Geralt left unattended is suddenly there again. 

His shirt is missing, leading him to think that Geralt took it off, and there are bandages wrapped tightly around his chest. The witcher is meditating, his own wounds patched up, and the sky is a lighter shade of deep blue than it had been when he fell. 

Jaskier decides to break the silence. “I still…” he gets cut off by an involuntary groan. “I still want that apology, Geralt. Especially if this is how I die.” 

Geralt sighs deeply through his nose, an indication that he’s heard the bard. “You’re not going to die.” he opens his eyes, finally. “But you almost did. What were you _thinking_ ? I told you to _go_.” 

The bard sits up straighter, or tries to, wincing and letting out a harsh breath. “It was going to hurt you. You didn’t have your sword.” 

Geralt stares at him for a few seconds, looking like he wants to throttle Jaskier. “You could have just thrown me my sword to begin with, instead of lashing out. You’ve never even held a sword before.” 

“And _you_ could have stayed here for the night, let the very _scary_ monster _be_ and just apologized to me when I asked you to. But no! You had to go off and avoid the conversation because you don’t know how to say sorry.”

“That’s not –” 

“Don’t you dare tell me it’s not. You couldn’t get away fast enough when you heard that _thing_ screech off in the distance. So here we are.”

Geralt lets out a deep sigh, drawing the both of them into silence once more. It lasts for a span of five minutes, before he breaks it again. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I took my anger out on you. You were an easy target. I was upset, and you didn’t deserve to bear the brunt of that. But you almost _died_ tonight, Jaskier. I have half a mind to get you to Velen and leave you there.” 

“Oh no – no, no, no, you don’t get to just leave me behind after 18 _fucking_ months, after I’ve already wondered what on Earth I did to wrong you so that you harbored such contempt for me. Not because I got hurt. Not after not even one day, Geralt.” 

“Jaskier –” 

“I’d do it again in a second. Maybe a little differently, but I’m never going to regret what happened tonight. _Never,_ Geralt.” 

The witcher heaves a sigh, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Fuck.” 

“As eloquent as ever.” Jaskier says fondly, but he soon grows serious. “Don’t leave me behind again. I thought… I really thought our paths would never cross again. I didn’t know how to deal with it.” 

“Why not?” Geralt asks. 

“Do you really want to know?” Jaskier pulls in a shaky sigh, butterflies flitting restlessly around his stomach. “I’ll tell you, but only if you _truly_ wish to know.” 

“Tell me, Jaskier.” 

Tears collect in the bards eyes, though they don’t fall. “Because I’m in love with you. I’m so deeply in love with you, Geralt, I don’t know what to do with myself. And before you say anything, before you dismiss it as a passing fancy, and ‘oh, Jaskier, you fall in love with everyone you meet,’ it’s not that. It’s nothing like that. I would follow you to the ends of the earth, until I couldn’t anymore, and not regret a damn thing. I could die tomorrow, but I would die happy knowing I got to see you one last time, even if I am still angry at you.” Jaskier is trembling, fidgeting, and he wishes he could blame it on the cold. 

“I…” Geralt starts.

Jaskier cuts in. “I don’t expect you to feel the same way. You don’t have to give me an answer, I just… You wanted to know.” 

The two are coated in a thick silence once more, until Geralt stands up, and Jaskier foolishly thinks he’s going to leave the bard alone in the swamp. He doesn’t. Instead, he sits next to Jaskier. He has a solemn look on his face, and Jaskier swallows involuntarily. 

“I’m not…” he pauses, sighing. “I can’t speak like you do. I don’t know how to put all of this –” Geralt gestures to the space between them. “– into words.” 

“You don’t have to. I hope you don’t feel obligated, that was never what I wanted –” It’s hard to swallow around this lump in his throat, but Jaskier refuses to cry tonight. 

“ _Jaskier_ .” His name is said so gently, that his poor heart can’t help but skip a beat. Geralt cups his cheek, giving him time to pull away if he wants to. Jaskier does _not_ want to. And suddenly, they’re kissing, and the tears that the bard desperately didn’t want to fall are falling regardless. 

Geralt merely wipes them away with his thumb, pulling away to rest his forehead against Jaskier’s. “Just because I don’t know how to voice how I feel, doesn’t mean I don’t feel the same way.” 

“You feel the same way, and yet it was so hard for you to apologize to me?” Jaskier says teasingly. 

“I didn’t… _fuck_ .” Geralt sighs. “I thought if we could ignore it, if _I_ could ignore it, I wouldn’t have to face it. I wouldn’t have to face these feelings. And you wouldn’t leave it alone, and then you almost _died_ –” 

“Shh…” Jaskier hushes him. “I understand. I’m still a little hurt, I will admit, but I understand.” 

“I love you.” he says, and Jaskier’s chest swells. 


End file.
